


Feast of the Assumptions

by Amazonia_8



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Awkwardness, Baker Castiel, Castiel teaches Dean to cook, Dom/sub Undertones, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gabriel isn't helping, M/M, Masturbation, Mechanic Dean, Oral Sex, Phone Sex, Rough Sex, Sam gets the wong idea, Shenanigans, Thanksgiving, Thanksgiving Dinner, Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2015-12-15
Packaged: 2018-05-04 14:03:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5336744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amazonia_8/pseuds/Amazonia_8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every year, for many years after, someone would inevitably shout at a table mate, DON’T EAT THE TURKEY! Or someone else, typically Jo, would start moaning inappropriately around forkfuls of pie until Ellen broke out the full name warning, but she was never quite able to do it without choking down her own amusement.<br/>Dean took it all in stride, what did he care? That had been the Thanksgiving that changed everything in his life for the better. Even if he was never going to live it down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It would become known as Dongsgiving.

Of course it was Ash who christened it that with the wide, easy grin of certain truth and everyone immediately lit up with agreement. Kevin tried to press for _Sexsgiving_ , but no one was going to take a virgin seriously in such a serious matter as naming that day.

“But Sexsgiving, guys, it makes the most sense.”

“Naw cause see, we didn’t all get sex but we all got dongs.” And Kevin didn’t have much that could counter that. They had all gotten dongs, even Bobby, the poor bastard, as much as he’d like to forget.

“Besides,” Dean laid a paternal hand on Kevin’s shoulder. “virgins don’t get a vote.”

“I’m not a virgin!” Kevin had argued, not for the first time that night. “Oral sex is still sex!”

“That’s something a virgin would say.” Sam added sagely from the couch.

~*~

Every year, for many years after, someone would inevitably shout at a table mate, DON’T EAT THE TURKEY! Or someone else, typically Jo, would start moaning inappropriately around forkfuls of pie until Ellen broke out the full name warning, but she was never quite able to do it without choking down her own amusement.

Dean took it all in stride, what did he care? That had been the Thanksgiving that changed everything in his life for the better. Even if he was never going to live it down.

~*~

Before that, holidays were never much of a happy time in the Winchester household. Mary gone too young, John dragging the brothers whipstitch across the forty-eight states searching for work, they were lucky if one of them had enough to scrounge up a birthday present.

Dean tried. He wanted Sammy to have what other families had, so by the time it was just the two of them, Dean had come full circle and planted them both back in hometown Kansas. He got them a little place, got a job, opened a business, got a nicer place, broke his own heart when he sent Sam off to college a thousand miles away. But he comforted himself with the thought that Sam finally had somewhere to come back to, a real home.

But as most things go, schooling gets hectic and plane tickets get expensive, and before long, most all of Dean’s Thanksgivings were spent with a bottle of whiskey, a store bought pie and a day of football on the couch. Not much of a Thanksgiving, but he never complained.

~*~

“You mean it?”

“Yeah Dean, I do. I got the whole week off and we’ll be there the Monday before.”

“We?”

There’s a long pause.

“I’m uh…bringing Jess with me, if you don’t mind. I sort of want you to finally meet her so you can…maybe…I don’t know, give your blessing? I mean, I already asked her and she said yes, but I won’t feel like it’s official until you’ve met her.”

Dean face hurt he’s grinning so much.

“You finally grew a pair! Congrats man!”

“Thanks Dean.”

They talked about wedding plans and plans for Thanksgiving and how everyone back home was doing and wouldn’t it be great to have all the people they loved around the table for once and before he knew it, Dean had agreed to host a full Thanksgiving feast with all the trimmings for ten people. By the time they said their goodbyes he was wound up tight with holiday excitement at the prospect of getting all his family under one roof. He was going to make this the best damned Thanksgiving anyone had ever seen and Martha Stewart could suck a bag of dicks.

Only one problem.

Dean hadn’t prepared anything more complicated than a burger in his life and had no blessed clue how to pull off something close to a Thanksgiving dinner. But it was November third, there was time, so by God he was going to figure it out.

~*~

The first practice run confirmed Dean’s suspicion that this wasn’t something he could pull off on the fly, his instincts on the matter obviously failing him when it came to something that didn’t leave much room to improvise. The turkey wasn’t large, but had somehow come out of the oven raw in some parts and crumbling to fine white dust under his knife in others.

Turkey number two necessitated the intervention of emergency response professionals after it was incinerated beyond human recognition. Dean’s original idea to was try grilling it, it was brilliant, he could grill a hell of a good steak, why not this? Only thing he didn’t count on was accidentally choosing one of those butter injected deals and failing to put a catch pan underneath. Two hours later Dean ambled outside to check its progress and was thrown back on his ass by a ten foot ball of fire igniting right in his face. The inferno raged higher with the flood of sweet oxygen and for a blind panic minute, he was sure he’d lost both eyebrows.

Benny and the boys had laughed their asses off as they tromped through his house after putting out the flames, gear jangling in a parade of overkill, because even though Dean had told Benny- he’d _told him_ \- he only needed a bit of help putting out one _teeny tiny_ crematorium, (that had roared its victory over his pathetic kitchen extinguisher) Benny had thought it would be much more fun to bring the full complement of Station 17’s best and brightest to annihilate his backyard barbeque.

“You know, I might just have other plans this holiday…” Benny teased him from behind the neck of his bottle. He’d brought pizza and beer after clocking out, a small peace offering. The two of them sat on the back porch, watching the sun set on the gnarled corpse of Dean’s beloved secondhand Grillmaster.

“Don’t you dare. You’re the only one coming besides Ellen that knows their way around a kitchen and she won’t lift a finger if I screw this up. I need you to be my backup.”

“Sure thing partner, how’s about I sneak in a pot of gumbo just in case? Contingency plan.”

Dean looked at him sideways, gumbo didn’t fit into his traditional holiday theme, but he guessed he couldn’t be too picky about the shape of his safety net, especially seeing as how it was looking entirely likely that he’d need it.

“But you’re bringing the pie too, right? I’m not buying this if it’s an either/or situation.”

“Yeah, brother, pie gonna come. Chocolate bourbon pecan, mother’s own.”

“I swear to God Benny, if you were gay I would marry you just for that pie.”

“Oh really?” he chuckles. The first fireflies have come out as he drains his beer, reaching for two more and handing them over for Dean to open. “What makes you think I’d want someone like you if that was the case? I got standards brother.”

“The hell you do!”

He gave Benny a playful shove and the two men spent the rest of the evening reminiscing about romantic encounters gone wrong. He strong armed Benny into the guest room sometime after one, after the two of them had reminisced their way through another case of beer. Benny offered no help whatsoever getting his bulk from one room to the next, snickering about Dean getting him in his bed after all, but promptly passing out mid-sentence the minute he hit the mattress with his face.

~*~

The fringe of his hangover hadn’t yet dissipated by the time Dean found himself standing once again in the meat department of his local supermarket, florescent lights far too bright to allow him to remove his sunglasses, glaring daggers behind the lenses at the recently installed turkey display with its trough of bulbous frozen carcasses, each one mocking him with its potential for failure. He was never going to get this right. The holiday would be a disaster and Sam would never come back, he’d spend every year with Jess’ family, sighing politely when they asked about Dean.

_After what happened last year we didn’t want to be a burden. I think it was a little too much for him…_

He was just considering calling the whole thing off, thoughts spiraling around which version of disappointing Sam he could stomach slightly more, when he saw it, the cheery wrinkled face of the kindly old woman in a floral dress and a frilly white apron smiling at him from the cardboard sign. She held a picture perfect turkey on a platter and on her head she wore a wireless headset nestled in her silver curls.

_Plumperson’s Turkey Hotline!_

_Nov 1-Dec 24_

_24 hrs a day!_

_Your friends a Plumperson’s are ready to help you with any turkey predicament!_

That’s it, that was just what he needed! Some adorable little grandmother type that loved to spend her days helping all the poor folks out there with their endless cooking questions. Someone named Marjorie maybe, with her grandkids all grown, all those years of roasting birds and candying yams going to good use again. She would have a peppy, wrinkled voice and call him ‘dearie’ and patiently guide him through all the intricacies of roasting the every loving shit out of this stupid fucking bird.

He bought six, Winchester resolve surging in his chest. He copied the number of the hotline in his phone and pulled down his shades to wink cheerfully at the unimpressed checkout girl.

~*~

Dean left the smallest bird to thaw in a sink full of cool water, crammed the others in the garage fridge usually designated for beer. He poured himself a nice glass of whiskey, gathered up a pencil and pad and settled into the sofa with his cell phone and a determination to pull every secret trick Marjorie had out of her sweet, fragile little heart.

The line rang and Dean took another long sip.

“Thank you for calling Plumperson’s. This is Castiel, how can I be of assistance today?”

Dean floundered for a moment, looked hard at the glass in his hand. He only felt a little cozy so far, not nearly buzzed enough to call the wrong number. He had to have called the wrong number.

For Dean would never admit to something like a kink, per say. He just knew, from years and years and _years_ of experience, that there was one thing in particular that could get him harder than a sailor on shore leave and it was the timber and grit of an especially deep, commanding male voice. And the voice vibrating through his skull right now and zinging its way on down to his pants was something straight out of his most pornographic dreams.

“Where’s Marjorie?” he managed, pitifully, trying to stitch his words together without any telltale strain.

“I’m sorry, I do not understand. There is no Marjorie here, you may have dialed this number in error.”

And the hot blooming vine of blood was already spiking its way due south with every word the man said and Dean wasn’t sure if he knew how to course correct now that it had started.

“No I- I thought this hotline was full of, you know, little old ladies with blue hair and….”

_And not men with fuck-filthy voices making me stand up and salute._

“Ah yes, your confusion is understandable. But I can assure you that I am fully capable of providing you with whatever culinary aid you might need. Now, how may I help you today?”

“I have to go.”

~*~

Ok.

Ok.

So that was unexpected. Dean stared down at his erection, unsure what to do with it. Well, he knew what to _do_ with it, he was just getting hung up on the finer points of how it came to be.

Castiel.

That wasn’t a real person’s name and real people didn’t sound like that unless they were putting it on. But who the hell tries to sound sexy talking about Thanksgiving? And didn’t that company screen these people? Weren’t they getting complaints about the higher than average panty disintegration happening to its customers?

He slipped a hand down the front of his jeans and pressed it hard against the throbbing line of flesh. He rocked into it, tiny little juts impeded by the confines of denim he still hadn’t undone. He liked teasing himself, liked things just shy of satisfying till he couldn’t stand it anymore.

_You need me to assist you with that Dean?_

God he could fucking hear Castiel clear as a bell, rumbling at him in curious approval.

_You look so uncomfortable like that. Why don’t you unzip your pants and show me what the problem is._

He did, slowly undoing his pants and dragging his shirt up higher, letting the hot length of him burn in the cool air.

_Hmm, I see. You’re so hard you must be aching. Does it ache Dean? I know you want to touch it, do you have any lube? No? That’s a shame, I bet your cock looks so good when it’s all wet and glistening. Well I’ll just have to help in other ways. Now, I want you to stroke yourself Dean, to the sound of my voice. Uuuuup and doooown, nice and slow, just like that. Uuuuup and doooown. Good, yes, keep going at my pace._

Dean pumped himself slowly, face scrunched up at the gorgeous building pressure.

_What about that tight little asshole of yours? Does it like to be stuffed full? I bet it does. Why don’t you rub a finger over that hole of yours, let me see what that does. There you go, just like that. Oh, you like that I see, look at you, it must be killing you not to go faster. Do you want to go faster?_

Dean nodded, eyes shut tight.

_Mmmm, yes I can see that, but you need to be good for just a little longer. Now suck on those fingers of yours, get them nice and wet. It’s time to see how deep you can fuck them into your ass for me._

He did, and the minute he worked two of them in there that was it, jettison of come feeling as though it was ripped from him by a voice that wasn’t even there.

~*~

“Thank you for calling Plumperson’s. This is Castiel, how can I be of assistance today?”

Alright, so he’d planned for this. It was always a possibility that Castiel would be the one to pick up again. He needed help with this cooking business and now that Dean Jr. had been seen to thoroughly he could sit here and talk to the man like a normal person. Like a normal, liar person who was about to pretend that he didn’t just imagine this exact same voice growling at him to take his own fingers as deep as they could go.

He cleared his throat.

“Hi….hello…..hi, um, sorry I just hung up on you. There was a work…..thing.”

“That’s no trouble at all, I’m glad you called back. What can I help you with today?”

“Well, uh, you see I gotta do Thanksgiving this year and I’ve never actually cooked a bird before. Successfully. I actually tried to cook two for practice but those didn’t really pan out.”

“I see,” the man hummed in his ear, intimate and low, as if Dean’s terrible cooking skills deserved serious contemplation. “Well then, I applaud you for getting an early start. Thanksgiving day this line will be flooded with people that did not have your foresight.”

The praise thing. God Dean couldn’t fucking count the stuff he’d willingly agreed to just because someone told him he was good. His pants were getting more constrictive by the second, _as if he hadn’t just taken care of this minutes ago sonovabitch!_ Dean tried to stay strong, but fuck this guy sounded sexy and if he wasn’t holding the phone in one hand and his second glass of whiskey in the other, odds were better than good he would be testing just how much touching he could get away with right now without letting on to the Plumperson Turkey sex phone operator what he was doing. Hell if this guy suddenly stated ‘Dean, I pull hair’ he would even need his hands, just a clean towel.

“Why don’t you tell me what your approach was with the previous two birds and then we can see what went wrong.”

“Dean.” He offers in a voice he thinks is far too shaky to go unnoticed.

_Say it. Oh Christ say it, just say it._

“I’m sorry?”

“My- uhhh- my name is Dean. If we’re gonna….”

“Oh yes, thank you. Dean.”

That gorgeous baritone grinds through the vowels and pins the final N sound down by the back of its neck and in order to stop from moaning into his phone and making this immediately weird, Dean presses his head into the back of the couch and breaths as quietly as he can through his nose. He drains his glass in one go but doesn’t set it down.

“Ok, so uh…” he cleared his throat. “So the first one I guess I just threw it in the oven for a couple hours like I thought you’re supposed to and the thing was pretty much jerky on the outside and raw on the inside.”

“It sounds as though you did not thaw the turkey properly before cooking. Alright, tell me about the second one.”

Dean shifted a little then froze when his (now full glory) erection pushed against the seam of his jeans.

“Second one I kinda thought would be easier to grill out back, ‘cause I have a bit more experience with that sort of thing. Turns out though, there’s some turkeys that make mighty good bonfire fuel, had to call in a firefighter buddy to help put that out. Lost a good barbeque that day.”

Castiel gave a husky laugh that had Dean biting his lip.

“Yeah,” Dean chuckled a bit himself. “Poor old girl will never grill again, which is a shame ‘cause the only thing I _can_ make is a mean burger. I’m pretty sure you could see the fire ball in Kansas City.”

“Oh that was you?” Castiel teased dryly, “I thought there had been a train derailment or something equally catastrophic.”

Dean sat up straighter, “You’re in Kansas City? I’m in Lawrence.”

“Well I’m sure I’m not supposed to be saying this, but yes. They have hotline operators all over the country and the calls get routed to the nearest available line. Speaking of which, why don’t we go over a few things and see what works for you?”

Over the next forty five minutes, Dean got solid, practical experience with speaking in a normal voice while his erection tried desperately to Hulk its way out of his jeans every time Castiel said his name. But he managed to take notes and by the end of it Castiel had helped him construct a simple outline that he assured him would result in perfection.

~*~

It’s not like he planned on it. He had a routine.

Once in the morning, once in the evening with the aid of his laptop, and then maybe a few extra times over the weekend if he got bored. His sex life was healthy enough that he’d never felt overwhelmed by a sudden _compulsion_ to masturbate. At least not in the last decade. So he could be an adult about this, despite what happened last time.

There were other things around the house that could use his attention, the laundry was piling up and, he hadn’t sorted the mail in a week and he was absolutely not going to whip his dick out the minute he hung up with Castiel and come all over the couch to a mental replay of that fucking voice growling his name for a second time in a row. He was not.

But deciding on what to do to take his mind off Castiel proved tricky. The beige plastic skinned globe of his turkey shined dully from the sink, and there were the instructions, the bright yellow slab of legal paper stark against the white counter from where he’d slapped it down a moment before.

Dean busied himself with what he remembered off the top of his head, opening the packaging, throwing out the packaged giblets, placing the bird in the roasting pan and shoving it into the fridge to dry overnight. And he was only trying to go over his notes for tomorrow, but it was near enough to a transcript that he couldn’t do anything but imagine Castiel talking him through each step.

_Just slip your fingers under the skin…_

_Make sure to rub it all over with the-_

_Don’t tie up the legs if you want to finish faster…_

And shit, _shii-iit!_ He was propped against the counter with a hand down his pants, come spurting out at disastrous angles wondering how in the hell _that_ had just happened even before the last tremors of his orgasm had shook themselves free. He looked around in panic.

The kitchen window was open and it was the middle of the day and what the hell was wrong with him? He grabbed paper towels to clean off, wincing at the rough texture on his sensitive skin.

And Christ it was all over the floor and the- he scrubbed with the vigor of shame- the counter. He’d just got off with the instructions for how to roast a turkey. This had to be a new low.

~*~

The whole house smelled amazing and he took a moment to appreciate the picture perfect golden skinned bird resting in the pan before carving up a plate for himself and taking it to the living room. He clicked around the television before settling for a movie he’d seen before, then took a bite. Then another. He groaned- fuck it was so good, and it didn’t even have gravy. Before long he’d finished three plates worth and could almost hear Sammy’s thin whine that he _couldn’t just eat meat for dinner, Dean, you need to eat something green once in a while_. Which, the fuck he couldn’t because this shit was fantastic and there’s no way he’s having a heart attack at twenty-eight and--and now he was just arguing with an imaginary brother.

Before he allowed himself to think it through, Dean was dialing the number. He didn’t even bother with a feigned apology before hanging up on the bright, female voices that greeted him, just disconnected and tried again. Three times.

“Thank you for calling Plumperson’s. This is Castiel, how can I be of assistance today?”

“Heya Cas!” he grinned and licked at the traces of salt on his lips.

“Dean!” The even cadence of his voice fell away, Cas sounded genuinely pleased to hear from him again. “How are you? Did everything turn out alright?”

“That’s why I wanted to call you, man, I have to thank you! Everything was perfect, you’re a genius.”

“I’m not sure that’s how one’s intellectual prowess is measured, but I am delighted I was able to help. Does this mean you feel well enough prepared for your family holiday?”

“Kinda, but I,” he hesitated, unsure how harshly he should be judging himself right now. “I guess I wanted to try a few more? Different kinds, see which one takes home the blue ribbon, ya know? I just want everything to be perfect for Sam.”

“That’s very considerate of you. I’d be happy to help, there are a number of different ways that one could cook a turkey depending on the results you’re looking for. Do you have time?”

And Dean smiled and couldn’t feel too bad, he really did need the help.

~*~

“How’d you get into this racket anyway? I mean, seems like sort of an odd line of work, talkin’ hysterical home chefs down off a ledge on your holiday.”

They had been talking for hours, the original intent forgotten long ago as Castiel and Dean found an easy, unfolding interest in what the other had to say. Questions moving through explanations and winding off into tangents that turned into conversation about food and sports and television and family. Castiel had even asked him to stay on hold twice so he could take other calls.

Dean had long since moved to the bedroom, having wandered with no real direction all over the house before idly curling up in his bed, leaning back against the headboard, feet tucked under the blanket. He’d been ignoring the dull throb of his half hard cock all evening. It was impossible to keep it totally under control any time Castiel strung two syllables together, but the longer they talked the easier it was to push aside in favor of getting to know the man. He had an odd, dry sense of humor that Dean got a kick out of and he seemed baffled by every single movie reference Dean had made, even The Godfather, which was both confounding and fascinating.

“Well,” Castiel gives a relaxed little sigh. He sounds like he’s also made himself comfortable wherever it is he’s sitting. Dean can hear the difference, the softening, easy tone, the kind of voice for dark, cozy spaces. He imagines Castiel curled up on a couch, sinking into the pillows and not bothering to turn on the lights now that it’s gotten dark outside. “I sort of fell into it a few years ago. I run a small café with my brother, or rather I run the café and he runs the bakery.”

“You work with your brother?”

Dean said it with a pang of jealousy, but Castiel takes it, as most people do when they find out (especially if they’ve met his brother before) as sympathy.

“It only really works if I stick to my kitchen and he sticks to his, besides, his hours are much earlier than mine so we’re only stepping on each other for half the day. Anyway, every year we have to shut the café down for weeks just so I can help Gabriel with the holiday pie orders. He’s rather well known for them. A longtime customer lamented the fact that we didn’t offer full catering for the holiday, she was sort of in the same position as you, expected to pull of the holiday with no real idea how to do it. So I gave her some tips, and afterwards she was so grateful, I just felt very….is it silly of me to say something about the holiday spirit?”

“I think that’s only Christmas, but who am I to judge? Though if there _was_ a Spirit of Thanksgiving, I think I’d picture him as a giant, talking bottle of whiskey. Winchester tradition and all.”

“Hmm… that would suit my family as well actually. I feel like he should still be voiced by Burl Ives.”

Dean barked with laughter, “Yeah, man. Spot on, good call!”

“Thank you Dean.” His voice smiled, pleased, and how was Dean supposed to stop himself from reacting with a little flare of heat? That strangely proper way Castiel had of speaking, but in his intimate grumble, it was sort of awkward but sexy because he obviously wasn’t putting it on. Dean tugs the hem of his shirt up to rub at his belly, just an innocent, unconscious move, but his hand starts traveling lower the longer Castiel speaks.

“Anyhow, we come from a large family. Large and very….taxing. They’ve always believed that because I spend all day, every day cooking for other people then it’s only natural that I should want to spend my Thanksgiving cooking for them as well.”

“Not gonna lie, Cas. If you’re half as good as I think you are, I’d be angling for you to cook for me every chance I got.”

His hand makes a pass down the inside of his thigh, and for a moment he stops himself. But his growing erection makes no such attempt at decency.

“Yes but I don’t think I’d mind cooking for you Dean, I get the sense you’d be far more appreciative of my efforts than they are.”

He doesn’t know what Cas looks like, and he doesn’t try to picture him, but the shadow of him pops into Dean’s head. A solid presence in his kitchen, the house warm and fragrant, the music of his movement something Dean could hear from the backyard as he hammers together the planks for a grow bed Castiel requested for his herbs. It’s such a sudden thought, so oddly specific and fucking _domestic_ that a twist of ill fitted emotions snakes around Dean’s chest before wriggling itself back smooth. Want and melancholy and contentment and desire. He wrangles his head back into place, it’s far less dangerous to keep this pathetically one-sided interaction at lust. Lust is easy, and forgivable and the solution is cheap. He doesn’t need to think about the other thing, about how much he hates an empty house, how long he’s been alone for reasons he doesn’t think he remembers correctly. Dean squeezes his dick through his jeans, still hard and perking at the attention. Castiel’s still speaking and he sinks into that voice.

“…and I did it for years, but they are overwhelmingly difficult to please and I just got tired of listening to them pick on each other and complain about everything I’d made. I found out about this hotline and decided to give it a try and I must say that I enjoy it a great deal more than having to listen to Grandmother Jojo announce to the room that she’s _sure_ I could find a nice girl if I only dressed better or didn’t read so much. And how in her day she didn’t know a single homosexual but now everyone was trying to be like that Neil Patrick Harris on the TV. You see Dean,” his voice gets somehow lower with the hint of conspiracy, “I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but apparently Mr. Harris is actively trying to corrupt the American youth with his deviant sexuality.”

Dean fakes a gasp, “But he seems like such a nice young man!”

Castiel laughs along with him. “According to Grandmother Jojo, that’s how they get you and I’ve been told every single year at Thanksgiving and Christmas that I don’t need to be gay because I’m so very handsome. Not as handsome as my brother Michael, mind you, but she’s assured me that there’s no need to resign myself to men because there’s plenty of young ladies out there that might like my sort.”

“I’m bisexual!” Dean blurts out and then looks wildly around the room as if there was someone here who could explain to him why he’d just said that. “I’m sorry, that’s uh….that was weird. I just mean, you know, I get it. I never brought guys around my dad when he was alive. Sexuality can be tricky when there’s other people involved. Or- I don’t mean it like that, just when there’s family involved. Wait. That sounds worse. What I mean is that you got family over here and sexuality over there and if they come together- you know what, I’m gonna need you to throw me a branch or something cause I don’t think I can climb out of this one on my own.”

“My family has never told me directly that they disapprove of my lifestyle, but they have been known to play, what Gabriel calls, _Name That Queer_. They’ll see someone on television and one of them makes their case why they believe that person is or is not homosexual, the prevailing sentiment being that this is an unfortunate thing to be. I am usually forced to act as the deciding vote if a consensus cannot be reached. So I thoroughly understand what you were attempting to say.”

“Thank God, ‘cause I’m not even sure where I was trying to go with that. Good to know you’re not scared off by the occasional foot in mouth disease.”

And there’s a jumbley little silence that is somehow both awkward and pleasant before Castiel manages to break it.

“I, myself, have been told I lack social skills, an apt descriptor I’m afraid, as I do not tend to have much opportunity to socialize.”

“Oh I don’t know Cas, you seem fine to me, I like talking to you. Or maybe I’m just a shit one to judge considering I’m not the most sociable person myself.”

“Then allow me to say that I very much enjoy talking to you as well Dean.”


	2. Chapter 2

They end up talking nearly every night that week. Castiel had shown Dean how to dial his personal extension, stumbling over the words with charming uncertainty as he explained that it would be easier for Dean to call him directly like this rather than playing roulette with the hotline.

“You don’t have to use it if you prefer to speak with someone else. You might want different opinions on the various-“

“Cas, buddy, I don’t want anybody getting me through this but you. You’re my guy, capisce?

“Yes Dean, I capisce.”

Every night Dean would return home covered in engine grease with an armful of grocery bags and after a quick shower he’d call Castiel, an unfamiliar thrill of anticipation humming along his skin. Castiel would answer with his customary Plumperson’s greeting and Dean would drawl out a Midwest molasses _Hey Cas_ and everything would seem right with the world the moment he heard _Hello Dean_.

They managed a little progress each night in his rudimentary culinary education, but it would never last long. There was just too much Castiel didn’t understand about popular culture or cars for Dean not to take an hour energetically explaining it to him. And Castiel made cooking sound like a higher calling, made Dean actually start looking forward to his experiments in the kitchen because it tapped his improvisational veins, fitting in nicely with what he considered his other essential manly life skills: hunting, fishing, fixing a car, minor home repairs and charming his way into the fast line at the DMV.

Not only that, Cas knew his way around pie and could easily be thrown into whole, thirty minute diatribes about the proper way to crimp a crust and his thoughts on flour versus cornstarch fruit fillings, which Dean would sometimes have to cut him off with a lame excuse because listening to Cas talk about pie like that was far more captivating than Dean was willing to admit to his new friend.

And in all that time, Dean felt confident that it didn’t make him a worse person than he already was if evening sessions with his hand are regularly fueled by thoughts of Castiel’s voice whispering filth in his ear.

He _is_ a little concerned with the new development that sees him getting progressively more aroused while watching the cooking channel. Should probably keep an eye on that.

~*~

There’s a reason Bobby puts him in the front stall, the one customers can see from the street or the windows of the office. The man might regard Dean as the son he never had, but he knows what’s good for business and it’s got a quick draw smile that could seduce the robe off a nun. With the kind of specialty work they do comes a particular clientele, one that appreciates aesthetics. That’s why Bobby grudgingly agreed to design the place with a retro feel in the first place, a kind of Disneyland for vintage car enthusiasts with chrome on everything and spotless bays filled with well-organized tools and matching employee uniforms complete with neatly stitched name tags. But despite the flash, their work is flawless and the real money jobs are the ones that regularly get hauled in on flatbeds from all over the Midwest. And he might act as window dressing for Bobby on occasion, but Dean is far and away the best mechanic on the lot, and it’s these high end custom jobs with no client interaction that he works on the most. Also helps that co-owner gets first dibs.

So Dean can always tell when Bobby needs a full assault charm job, he never sends customers to him directly when his docket is full unless someone’s being particularly difficult and seems susceptible to a concentrated dose of Winchester.

From under the chassis of a ’52 Mustang that had seen better days, he can hear the growing din of someone speaking in one long, impenetrable sentence. Their customers are almost exclusively divided between the rich or the automotively enthusiastic, so Dean’s guess from the self-serious tone of the man approaching, is that he falls squarely into the rich category, the kind that never bothers to pause their phone call when dealing with the task at hand.

Dean rolls himself deeper into his sanctuary, maybe the man is headed for that Caddie Garth has been working on. But the voice travels straight towards him, building in volume and theatrics and something tells him that this could be Bobby’s way of getting back at Dean for eating the last jelly-filled this morning.

“….and your excuse is not going to fly this year, you hear me? Raphael just spent six weeks at that Bible camp, _six weeks_ and you damn well know that we’re all going to have to listen to him talk about how they helped him pray his way back to virtue in a cabin in the Ozarks. And none of us are allowed to say a _word_ about the embezzlement and I guarantee you he’s going to say things like ‘Satan’s black will lead me astray, please pass the potatoes!’, and I _can’t be trusted_ not to fuck with him about Soul Rehab! You know I can’t! Cassie, they paddled each other’s asses in the woods. Twenty men. Alone in the woods _spanking_ each other in the name of the Lord so they could learn suffering or something. I can’t- I’m not strong enough to resist that!”

Dean can’t help smirking a little, he’d have a hell of a time keeping his mouth shut too in the same circumstances. The voice stops at his feet, but the man seems in no hurry to end his tirade so Dean keeps his eyes on his work.

“I need you to be my wingman Cassie, you have to stab me in the leg with a fork or something to get me through the rough spots. Oh, and did I tell you that mother is bringing me a date? Dates, actually, three, I think one of them is her intern! It will be like the Dating Game meets virgin sacrifice, I’ll have to pick one at the end and then we’ll all get to watch mother unhinge her jaw and swallow the other two whole. She want humans! She wants infant humans she can begin to mold to her specifications and dress in bonnets! Cassie you remember our vows, don’t you? It ends with us, no more bonnets, never again.”

“While I do share your reticence about bonnets, I still can’t come, as much as I’d like to help you. The schedule has already been made and I’m committed.”

Dean sucked in his breath. It wasn’t possible.

“You smug fucking bastard, you don’t _want_ to help me, you just want to lock yourself up in your tower and hide from them with your flimsy excuse for a job!”

“You’re right.”

“Ugh! I’m so jealous. Well at the very least you have to take her out to brunch or something afterwards, get her off my case about settling down.”

“Why don’t you just tell her you’re seeing someone?”

“Because I’m seeing several someones, and the closest thing I have to a relationship is Kali and I can’t introduce her to mother as the woman who hate fucks me for sport. Let’s just take care of my car and then you can buy me lunch.”

Dean was still frozen like a wide-eyed rabbit in his burrow, utterly unsure of what to do next because there was no mistaking _that voice_. It had been tumbling around his head for a week now, choreographed by Dean’s late night imagination into careful, pitch perfect dialogues where that voice told him what to do and how to do it and growled and panted and bit out his name right as his own hand tipped him over the edge. There were an embarrassing amount of come stains in his laundry all because of that voice, and now- what was he supposed to do now?

“Hello?” There were two short knocks on the hood of the Mustang.

Dean wanted to see him, he wanted to know. He _liked_ Cas, even beyond his own fucked up inability to listen to the man speak without popping a boner. Oh God what if he popped one right now? He tilted his head back and stared at the front end of the car, maybe he could roll himself to safety out the other side and never look back.

“Are you the partner? Sir? The grizzled gentleman at the front said I should speak to you after he failed to murder me with his eyes.”

“Gabriel, I believe it’s unwise to insult people that know how to cut your breaks.”

Dean snorted despite himself. Maybe this would be a good thing, he thought as he rolled out from under the car, make Cas a real person, just an average looking guy with a gut and a big nose, and this weird phone thing would lose its sexual edge.

“Oh my God,” the smaller of the two men standing before him leered the moment Dean crawled out from under the Mustang. “Have it bathed and brought to my chambers immediately!”

“Cas?” Dean zeroed in on the other man. Clearly the universe had a score to settle with him because whatever generic image Dean had been using before to picture Cas had been miles off course, he’s gorgeous in ways he didn’t even know he was attracted to until he saw the man. Christ those fucking eyes, who the hell has the nerve to have eyes that color? And the squinty little side tilt look he was giving, his hair messy and dusted with flour. The confused little pout that Dean immediately tried to

ignore, but his baser self just gave him the finger over its shoulder as it escorted the image of that mouth down the basement stairs into the vault.

“It’s uh…it’s Dean.” And he realized in that moment that he’d rolled the top half of his coveralls down to his hips, hiding his nametag. His white tank top was covered in black grease and nearly see through with sweat, he was grimy and probably smelly and this was not how he wanted to make a first impression.

Castiel’s features softened into an innocent sort of surprise, then illuminated with a smile that made Dean feel tight in the chest.

“Dean? What an unexpected pleasure! It’s so good to finally meet you.” He shook Dean’s hand cordially and for a moment the two of them just smiled at one another silently as Gabriel ping ponged back and forth between the two.

“ _Deeean_?” Gabriel cut in, looking pointedly at Castiel.

“Gabriel.” Castiel dropped flatly between them, a warning.

“Yes, I am.” He said, turning to Dean. “Cassie here’s not much for civilized introductions apparently. I’m Gabriel, the brother. The fun one, anyway. And you’re _Dean_.” There was a smug report to the way he enunciated the name. Castiel turned pink.

“Yup, that’s me.” He gave a lopsided grin along with his hand, he could appreciate an older brother giving his sibling a few ounces of shit. And if he was being honest, it was a little thrilling to think that Cas might have mentioned him, might have thought about him after their phone calls the way he did.

Well, maybe not exactly the way he did. But Dean had issues so it wasn’t really a fair comparison.

“So I’m guessing you have a car for me?”

“Do I ever hotstuff.” Gabriel winked and stalked out to the street, leaving the two of them behind.

They stared at one another, not entirely uncomfortable, but it somehow seemed more difficult to get into the easy banter they shared over the phone now that they were face to face.

“Please forgive my brother.” Castiel said abruptly. “He’s an unrepentant flirt. He usually doesn’t mean anything by it, so I apologize if he’s crossing any lines.”

“No worries, Cas. He’s not really my type.” And he really couldn’t help eyeing Cas up and down appreciatively for a moment. He was slim but toned and Dean stalled on his hands and began to wonder- very vividly- what those fingers would feel like in his mouth.

_BEEP B-B-BEEP!_

The hulking body of 1956 Chevy Grumman Kurbside lumbered to a clankity halt in front of Dean’s bay and for a moment he forgot all about Castiel’s many distracting features.

“Oh buddy, tell me you want the whole nine on this one.” He circled the boxy grey van, practically salivating. It was mostly primer and rust and sounded like the engine needed an overhaul, but her lines were good and as far as he could tell all her parts original.

“You bet your tight little ass I do.” Gabriel jumped from the driver’s seat with a flourish and pulled out a photoshopped image of the van that gave a basic outline of what he wanted. The body was to be painted a soft cream with the bottom half color-blocked in dark brown. On the side of the van it read Devil’s Food Bakery.

“Umm, so I don’t do the lettering, but we might want to talk about what you’re doing with the ‘O’s here first.”

“Oh Gabe, you didn’t! I told you-“

“Pies!” Gabriel clapped his hands together. “Yes, two full, _round_ pies. I actually want them to be fiberglass? Or whatever you can make them out of. I want them 3D, sticking out the side.” He palmed the general area on the side of the van, hefting their imaginary weight rather obscenely.

“Gabe I’m not driving around with breasts on our van.”

“They’re pies Cassie, can’t you see that?”

“We’ll get a citation! This can’t be legal, Dean please tell me it’s illegal to have breasts on public advertisement.”

He was hot when he was angry. Dean wanted to kiss him, more than that, he wanted Castiel to kiss him, hot and angry and right now. Pissed off, greedy, tongue and teeth. He was so distracted by the thought that Castiel gave up when Dean didn’t answer and turned back to argue with his brother over the questionable legality of pie tits.

“Actually, I might have an idea.”

~*~

Bobby didn’t give him too much grief for clocking out early that day, right after Castiel dragged his brother off the lot, but not before Dean had given them both his card, his cell number scrawled impulsively on Castiel’s.

“You know,” he felt like he was blushing and tried to man up. “If you have questions about the van.”

Castiel had stared down at the number for a moment before meeting Dean’s eyes, smiling briefly before Gabriel sidled up with a mischievous grin.

“Hey! Why don’t _I_ get your- ?”

Castiel managed a hurried ‘thank you’ before he yanked his brother towards the car by his arm.

Dean thought about that now, the flustered dart of Castiel’s eyes. It could just be the general embarrassment of dealing with a brother like Gabriel, but he was convinced it was more, maybe. There had been something there, a spark between them even if circumstances made it a bit awkward.

Dean pulled out the roasting pan from the fridge along with several Ziploc bags of chopped ingredients. One thing he knew for sure, he may never cook another bird after this holiday but the whole concept of advanced prep was life-changing, Castiel was a genius. He was just about to turn on the oven when his phone rang with an unknown number.

“Hello?”

“Hello Dean.”

“Cas! Hey man, what’s up? Didn’t change your mind about your mechanic, did you?” He teased.

“Oh, no of course not!” Damn is was cute how sincere he sounded, God Dean just wanted to tease him all day long. “Your skills come highly recommended and I- that’s why I called- I wanted to tell you how grateful I am that you were able to negotiate with Gabriel so effectively. I’m sure most people would just take the money and give him his way. It was….very classy of you.”

Dean laughed, “You might be the first and last person on earth to describe me as classy. Can’t say how classy you’ll think I am when you see the finished product, still gonna have those double D’s hanging off the side.”

“Yes, but you convinced him to remove the two cherries, which was my main point of concern.”

“Yeah but he only went for that because of the horn, you still ok with that?”

“I think a musical horn could be a nice touch, very vintage.”

“Um, Cas, have you ever heard the song Cherry Pie before?”

~*~

It was called Nectar. Little brick one story with a black and white stripped awning and an outdoor patio filled in with wrought iron tables and chairs. The wide front window was dark, but the afternoon light caught the gold painted name with its insignia of a bumble bee hovering over a spray of white blooming flowers. Next to that was a large signed propped up on the inside:

_Closed for Baking Season._

_Open Dec 1_

Dean parked out front and wrangled the shopping bags and the roasting pan up the sidewalk to the building next door. This one was also brick with a matching awning and gold painted sign, and as he approached the door, a lanky teenager in a white apron and paper hat propped it open and waved him inside with a large smile.

“You must be Dean! They’re in the back.”

The back kitchen was considerably larger than the tiny bakery storefront. It wasn’t the modern steel on steel commercial kitchens one might see on television. The walls here were brick too and a little crooked. There were several huge islands in the middle, each with a different disaster piled up and it was overly warm despite the fan humming away in the corner. Huge racks of just baked pies were cooling along the walls, the floor was covered in flour and scraps of dough and the place smelled like heaven. Castiel was bent over a butcher block table rolling heaps of dough into perfectly round balls, dropping each into an aluminum pan and stamping it into shape with an ancient looking pastry press. Dean watched for a moment the way his long fingers, quick with practice, curled just so around each delicate ball, forearms flexing every time he levered the press handle firmly down.

“Why Cassie!” Gabriel trilled. “Cassie your gentleman caller is here!”

Castiel looked up at Dean with a smile that was both embarrassed and delighted. He hurried over to help with the bags.

“I’m so glad you came. Please forgive the disarray. This is our busiest time of year.”

“Are you sure it’s ok I’m here? You really don’t have to go to all this trouble for me.”

Castiel covered the remaining dough with plastic and shuttled it into the walk in refrigerator, did the same with the rack of uncooked shells.

“It’s not trouble at all, really Dean. We typically end up making dinner here anyway so I should be thanking you for sharing your food. Besides, I could use some company other than Gabriel for a while.”

Gabriel gasped in mock hurt as he cleared off counter space and pulled over some stools. The two of them set immediately to work unloading the bags and inspecting the contents, working in perfect unison as they gathered jars of spices and knives and saucepans. Dean just stood there, not sure what he was supposed to do.

Earlier that day, when he’d mentioned to Cas that he was going to spend his free afternoon testing out another of their recipes, the man had stumbled through a painfully formal sounding offer to help Dean out personally if he was willing to bring the ingredients over to the bakery.

“But I should warn you that Gabriel will likely compel you to try some of the new pies he’s been testing. I wanted to make sure that would be alright, he has quite a few here and he can be exceptionally persistent.”

Dean’s eyes nearly rolled back in his head. “You’re asking me if it’s ok to feed me _pie_?”

“Well you’re so….fit. I just mean, you appear to work out, so I didn’t want to make assumptions about your diet.”

“Cas you give me that address right now, I’m coming over.”

As he watched the brothers work, he removed his jacket and slung it on a chair in the corner, looked down at his flannel and decided to lose that, too, considering how warm it was in here. With his jeans and white tshirt, he was dressed just like them, though he didn’t have the flour coated arms or the streaks of it on his face and neck like Castiel from where he’d absently rubbed the skin. He stood there, staring at Castiel maybe a little too long because when he happened to look at Gabriel the man had one eyebrow making a break for his scalp and a knowing smirk directly squarely at Dean. He almost stuttered at getting caught just as Castiel looked up and motioned for him to join them at the table.

“Alright, we’re all set. Now I just added a few things to your Cajun rub so if you decide to do it this way I’ll give you the ingredients. Go ahead.”

Dean looked down at the turkey and back at Castiel. “What me? I thought you were going to show me.”

“Learn by doing, I’m just the assistant today. You’ll remember better if you’re the one doing all the work. Here,” and he laid a gentle hand on Dean’s hip and nudged him into place in front of the counter.

It was a little intimidating at first, Castiel would look at him so _intensely_. It might almost be stern, but his voice was always calm and encouraging. He seemed ridiculously invested in teaching Dean to cook, and before long he was reaching over, adjusting Dean’s hands or offering him onions and herbs in a way that would have their fingers brushing over one another. The bird went in the oven and they both set to work on the oyster stuffing. He’d squawked once when Castiel took his bag of cubed bread and threw it in the trash, but the man had just pinned Dean with an exasperated look as he pulled a beautiful looking loaf off a nearby rack and began to chop it into neat, even cubes.

He hadn’t even noticed that Gabriel had disappeared until the man was gliding back into the room with a large brown bottle in one hand and three sturdy tumblers in the other. He’d been too busy joking with Castiel while the two of them bumped hips and shoulders in the close quarters, stealing side-long glances and memorizing the shape of his mouth.

“Isn’t that stuffing in the oven already? What’s been _taking_ you two so long?” Gabriel groaned in mock annoyance as he poured out the heavy amber liquid. “Cas finish this up so I can have my turn, you’ve been hogging him forever.”

Castiel glared at his brother but had the stuffing mixed and in the oven so fast Dean began to wonder if maybe they were dragging the process out just a bit. He helped load the dirty utensils into the industrial dishwasher as Cas put away the spices. When he turned around, there were now five perfect looking pies arranged on the table along with several forks.

“Dessert before dinner? I’m liking you more and more Gabe.” Dean slid onto a stool and tried to hide how much it delighted him that Castiel took the one right next to him.

“We got, what an hour?”

“Hour fifteen.” Castiel supplied.

“Until the turkey’s done, so here’s the ones I really need an opinion on. No pulled punches, just dig in and tell me what you think.”

Gabriel passed out forks and glasses.

“What’s this?” Dean sniffed his drink suspiciously. It looked like cider but it smelled different.

“Mead. Cassie makes homebrewed mead that’s _divine_.”

“You _make_ mead?” Dean took an exploratory sip. “Oh my God it’s good, too. So you run a café, bake pie all day, work a hotline in the evening and somewhere in there have time to brew hooch? Do you sleep?”

Castiel shrugged with an embarrassed tint to his cheeks. “It’s not terribly hard, and I just had all this honey from my hives I didn’t know what to do with, so…”

“You raise bees. Who are you?”

“I know, he’s _very impressive_ , but can we get to the task at hand please? Start with this one.” Gabriel shoved a pie in front of Dean and don’t let it ever be said he needed to be strong armed into glutting himself on pie. Sammy would be having an aneurism right now.

Together they tried the Cranberry Chess, good but not something he would chose for himself. Apple with cheddar cornmeal crust, which sounded odd to Dean but was in fact phenomenal. Devil’s Kiss, bittersweet chocolate espresso crust with dark chocolate fudge filling, spiced with cinnamon and a _lot_ of cayenne pepper. It snuck up on you, sweet and warm on the first bite, but somewhere around the third it got hot enough to melt your fillings. Benny would love this one, he thought. Next came Frenemy Pie, dense peanut butter silk with chocolate curls, whipped cream and mini peanut butter cups buried in the filling and dotting the top.

“You give it to someone whose ass you want to watch grow right before your eyes. I can’t even tell you the calories in that one or you might spit it across the room.”

Dean took another bite and smiled through the mouthful.

Finally there was Drunk Aunt Betty Pie, and it looked like an unholy mess. Kahlua cookie crust, a layer of soft caramel, a layer of Sambuca drenched ganache so thick it could bend a fork, a layer of tart cherry preserves whose main purpose appeared to be holding up snickerdoodle cookie shards that suck up at crazy looking angles. All of this was drizzled with marshmallow cream and bruled until the white was charred black in places. With a cherry on top.

“I don’t know if I should eat it or call in a hazmat team.”

“Dean you don’t have to eat that.” Cas looked just as concerned.

“Quit your bitching and dig in.”

They did, carefully. It was….interesting.

“It’s too sweet.” Cas deadpanned.

“You think everything is too sweet.”

“Because everything you make _is_ too sweet.”

“It’s dessert Castiel, it’s supposed to be. Shut up, you’re not my customer base anyway. Dean, what do you think?”

“Umm…” Dean ran his tongue around his mouth, sucked the thick filling from his teeth. “I think it’s not bad, it’s just really, really sweet.”

“HA!” Castiel shouted in victory.

“Damnit.” Gabriel pouted.

“But maybe just change one thing? What about using those dry, butter cookies in there instead?”

“What, like shortbread?” Gabriel looked surprised.

“Actually, that’s not a bad idea. What about salted shortbread for the crust and the topping?” Castiel said.

“Holy shit that’s- Dean, hold still, I’m going to mouth kiss you right now.”

“Umm, nope I’m good.”

Gabriel advanced on him anyway. “I’m warning you, I like a lot of tongue action, so this might get a little messy.”

“Gabriel!” Cas jumped up to block his brother and grabbed the nearest pie as a weapon. Dean didn’t know whether to laugh or take a swing.

“You’re right, what am I doing? I have work to do! Cas, you handle the kissing, I have shortbread to make!” And he ran off to the other side of the room, pulling bowls and spoons and ingredients together while Dean and Cas stared at each other in the wake of what Gabe had just said.

“He’s-“

“I’m n-“

They started at the same time, halted and stared and laughed nervously together.

“Ignore him, he’s always like that.” Castiel sucked on his bottom lip and fidgeted with his hands.

“What, you’re saying you’re not going to kiss me for my brilliant idea?”

Dean inched in a little closer with a flirtatious smile. Castiel gazed up at him with those huge blue eyes, breaking it a moment later to laugh nervously at his shoes.

“I wouldn’t mind so much as long as it was you.” Dean murmured, dipping his head but still holding back.

Castiel looked up at him again, surprised. “You- really?”

He looked lost, for just a moment, just a flash and then the decision was made and suddenly his lips were on Dean, dry and soft, cautious and proper like the way that he spoke.

“Somebody grab a handful of something!” Gabriel hooted from the other side of the room and Castiel jumped back red faced and frowning.

“Thanks a million there Gabe.” Dean muttered. But just then the oven timer dinged and the moment was usurped by food and liquor and pie. Dinner was outstanding, and Gabriel ordered Alphie to join them, in his apron and little paper hat. The customers could make themselves known if they needed something. The kid knew a thing or two about cars and found someone to idolize in Dean, who didn’t know when he’d last had such a good time. They talked stock paint versus custom between bites of warm apple pie, Gabriel interjected his familiar bit of raunch while Castiel admonished him that _the nature of physics dictates that’s not humanly possible_. And the whole time Dean tried not to watch Castiel too openly but Cas had no such reservation. Spearing his food and biting the tines of his fork unconsciously, which Dean found indescribably sexy, he frowned now and again at Dean as if he was equal parts annoyed and confused.

~*~

“Dean! Put the boxes down.”

He was a foot from his car when Castiel shouted, hurrying from the bakery with a scowl so dark, Dean set the two twined stacks of pie boxes Gabriel had given him down on the cement in a hurry.

“I can do better.” Was all he growled before grabbing Dean by the face and taking control of his mouth.

“Oh fuck yeah.” He managed to say, mostly say.

Cas kissed him hot and dirty, all long curling tongue while Dean was lips and teeth. They thrashed against each other, strange hungry undulations on the corner of Bover and 5th while Dean anchored in tight with one hand in Cas’ hair and the other gripped firmly in the back of his shirt.

Dean was in full agreement with his cock that he needed to get Castiel into the back seat of his car pronto, when the man pulled back sharply and nodded once.

“Better.”

He turned on his heel and walked away.

“Cas?”

He sounded breathless, still collapsed back against the side of his baby with half his shirt rucked up and the beginnings of beard burn across his jaw.

An unseen hand flipped the bakery sign to CLOSED and Dean was alone on the street with six boxes of pie and a gold medal erection.

“Umm….”


	3. Chapter 3

“Thank you for calling- “

“Cas I gotta come clean, this has been bugging me all day………I like canned cranberry sauce.”

There’s a long silence. Too long.

“Dean, we’ve talked about this, it’s an abomination. Did you even try the recipe I gave you? It’s one of the easiest things to make, you dump the ingredients in a pot and- “

“I know, I know man, but when I was a kid we always had the canned stuff, and I don’t know, I just like the way it comes out in one piece with those weird lines in the middle and I like the way it tastes and I need to know you won’t think less of me if I want it on my table.”

“Dean, it hurts me to say this, but if you want canned cranberry glop to serve at Thanksgiving, then do what makes you happy.”

Dean grinned, “You’re the best Cas. And uh…you’re a pretty damn good kisser, too.”

“Yes, about that Dean. I’m sorry if I was too forward.”

“Cas, I’m a forward motion kind of guy. And if we’re being honest, I’ve been wanting to kiss you since the moment I met you.”

“It was a shame, then, that my brother was present, we might have had more opportunity.” It’s kind of a kick that Cas flirts like he’s in a job interview, direct and a little too serious. Dean wasn’t sure the guy knew what innuendo meant.

“Actually, I sorta meant since the first time I spoke to you.”

He rubs at his neck, glad that Cas can’t watch his cheeks slowly turning pink but really wishing he could see the guy so he could get a read on how that went over. He’s not accustomed to revealing more of himself than necessary.

“Dean, at the risk of being too forward again, I feel compelled to tell you I have derived a great deal of pleasure out of our conversations. Your accent is very alluring, I may have had a bit of a crush on you even before we ran into one another at the garage.”

Dean blows out a laugh, “You think _my_ voice is alluring? Cas you sound like you fuck people with words for a living, you had me thinking I dialed a totally different kind of hotline the first time I called you. I’ve thought about you, you know, after we’d get off the phone. God, every time I talk to you- you don’t know what it does to me, it’s insane.”

“Have you touched yourself Dean?”

And shit he slips gears so easy, Dean’s imagined this so many times that is takes an honest moment to realize this is happening. “Have you made yourself come with the sound of my voice?”

“Oh God yes, Cas.” He groans. “Sometime I can barely make it to the end of the call. No one’s ever done that to me, made me feel out of control, like I can’t help myself.”

“Are you hard now Dean?” He growls and nothing, nothing he’s imagined before can compare to this. Cas still doesn’t tease, he’s still direct, serious, but now there’s a sharp note of command that has Dean’s toes curling in his boots. He can hear Cas’ breathing, he can hear lips and the exact pitch of his rasping vowels and it’s pumping blood into his dick so fast he whimpers like a goddamned wounded animal before his brain has the chance to be mortified by that.

“You gotta stop Cas, or I’m gonna start fucking my own hand right now.”

“Do you need me to tell you? Because that’s what I want. I want to hear you come Dean. I don’t care where you are, get on your knees right now and let me hear it.”

He nearly drops the phone his hands are shaking so hard with excitement. He tears at the fastenings of his jeans, cursing, dropping to his knees in the middle of the living room and shoving the denim down his thighs with one hand so his aching cock can spring free. He switches phone hands and immediately starts jacking himself fast and dirty. He can hear the grunt and swish of Castiel doing the same on the other line and it makes Dean’s balls tighten and his breath cut short. His hand is a blur and it’s almost painfully dry but too good to stop.

“God it fucking _hurts_ Cas, when you talk to me and I have to stop myself from doing this. You’re so fucking hot and I just want to ride your cock and listen to you talk all day long.”

“Dean,” Castiel sounds so breathless now, and a little desperate, and that, along with the equally raunchy sounds of him chasing his own orgasm, has Dean on edge and ready to burst. “I wanted to fuck you on the hood of that car the day I met you. I wanted to tear that stupid see-through shirt in half and lick the sweat from your body and then just bend you over the hood and fuck you blind.”

“Cas I’m gonna come! _Oh fuck oh fuu-ugnh ungh!”_

“Shit Dean I’m almost there!” He sounds pained and frantic.

“Cas,” he moans. “I’m still on my knees and I’m covered in come because of you.” He swipes a finger through the mess on his stomach and makes as much noise as he can sucking it sloppily into his mouth. “Mmmh I wish it was you I was tasting. I wanna know what you taste like Cas, want you to feed it down my throat.”

“Oh my God Dean!”

He’s never heard anything more erotic than the sound of Castiel falling apart while screaming his name. And they both come down to the sound of each other’s panting, Dean half naked on the living room carpet with the heels of his boots biting into his bare ass.

“Well that escalated quickly.”

“Dean that was extremely enjoyable. Call me tomorrow after six.” And hung up.

He was so fucking screwed.

~*~

“Knock knock!”

“Sam?” Dean popped his head out of the kitchen, he hadn’t even heard the key in the lock.

Before he could process his shock, Sam was galloping across the room to wrap him in a full body hug so tight it cracked more than a few joints.

“What the hell are you doing here man? I thought you weren’t coming until next week!” He laughed, punching his brother playfully in the arm before pulling him back into another hug.

“Two of my professors canceled our finals since the classes did so great on our papers, I decided to come home early and surprise you!”

“What about Jess?”

“She’s still got three more finals, but she’ll be coming out next week like we planned.”

“Man I’m so glad you’re here! Are you hungry? I got a casserole in the oven that should be ready in another twenty minutes.”

Sam actually blinked and shook his head clear. “You have a- were you expecting someone over?”

“No man,” Dean turns back into the kitchen and begins to clean up. “Been getting ready for the holiday and I learned a few tricks. Turns out I’m a not too horrible cook!”

“Dean, wait, I thought you were, you know, just gonna beg and plead with everyone to potluck it, I didn’t actually think you were going to cook the whole meal.”

“Sammy, I’m gonna need you to trust me on this one.”

~*~

“Jess, I’m telling you, I think there’s something going on, he’s acting really strange!”

Sam hunched lower in the driver’s seat of the Impala, not that it did anything to hide him.

“This might be a new record for you, you know. Last time it took you almost a full week together before you called me convinced Dean was hustling pool for money.”

“That’s because he actually used to hustle pool back when- !” His whisper-shouting was cut off by Jess’ far too reasonable tone.

“I know, sweetie, I know all about your family difficulties growing up, but if you had actually talked to him in the first place like I suggested then- “

“He doesn’t talk Jess, you know he doesn’t talk about himself like that, but like, I’m really worried about him.”

“Ok, tell me what exactly he’s done that has you so worried?”

“Well, he’s…he’s……… _happy_ , but like, all the time. He’s been walking around in this weird good mood since I got here.”

“That sounds serious, you were right to call me.”

“Come on Jess, you don’t understand. Dean’s always happy when I come home, that’s normal, but usually it only takes a day before one of us pisses the other off about something. But that hasn’t happened once, I even made this vegetarian dinner last night just to see what he would do and he _ate_ it Jess! He ate it and didn’t make one comment about how it’s not real food if you didn’t have to kill it. Veg-e-tarian, Jess.”

“Sam, don’t you think maybe you’re overreacting? I mean, a little? Maybe you need to take a step back and look at this a bit more objectively, you’ve told me before how much you two can dive a little too deeply into each other’s pockets.”

She was using her therapist voice, the kind she fell into with her patients, and he’d made her promise, _promise_ , when they got together that she would never try to analyze him, too afraid that was a rabbit hole their relationship would never crawl out of.

“I thought of that, I did, but Dean has been locked into his habits since he was sixteen. Do you know what we did when I came home the first night? Nothing! We had dinner, we watched a movie, had a few beers and then Dean _went to bed_. We haven’t gone out to a bar once and he hasn’t slept with a single person since I’ve been home. Not one.”

“Sam…” she sighed. “Maybe he’s just moved past that behavior. Maybe he’s even met someone.”

“Ok, yeah, that’s what I thought, because, and here’s the other thing, he’s on the phone _all the time_. So I thought he was maybe seeing someone, and I asked him but he said no. So I asked him who he’s always talking to and he told me it was just work stuff. I mean, work stuff? He hired Charlie just so he would never have to talk to customers, he’s worse than Bobby.”

“Is there a point to this?”

“I’m getting to that. So it’s not just the phone conversations, it’s that he’s being sketchy about it. If I come into the room, he leaves, or goes up into his bedroom and locks the door. Like he doesn’t want me to hear what he’s saying.”

“Sam, that’s called privacy. Most people don’t want to include an audience in their personal calls.”

Sam shook his head, but mumbled something like agreement. Jess just didn’t understand but he was determined to figure this out.

~*~

“I need you to fit one more in there for me.”

Dean grunted. “Damnit, I’m gonna snap my fucking wrist off Cas! Mmhh- there, got it! Oh shit it burns so much, haven’t had this many in me in so long. It’s not enough though, not full enough.” He panted into the cell phone pressed between his ear and the mattress.

“Soon Dean, soon it’s going to be my fingers doing that to you. Do you want me to open you up hard and fast, or do you want me to take my time, make you half insane with how much you want my cock?”

He groaned into the mattress, ass high in the air as he pumped his fingers faster into his hole and gripped his own hair in frustration.

“Hard, want it hard Cas, wanna feel it good when you fuck me, like it’s too much.”

“I’m going to take you like this first Dean, face down on the bed and pleading. I bet it takes a lot to make you beg, I bet I’ll have to fuck you as hard as I possibly can. Are you ready for that?”

~*~

He counted seven whole turkeys in the garage fridge.

There were multiple pie boxes stacked and flattened in the recycling out back.

Twice he’d seen Dean try to hide an erection while they were watching the Food Network, which he could have chalked up to Giada’s holiday cleavage, but they were watching Ina Gartener cram fistfuls of stuffing in an bird’s body cavity while wearing a turtleneck and the whole situation was getting really uncomfortable.

And last night, well after they’d gone to bed, he was absolutely sure he heard the poorly muffled sounds of his brother in the throes of some mighty intense self-love coming from the kitchen.

It wasn’t like he wanted to make the call, he just had to be sure.

~*~

“You know what, I don’t think I can do this.”

Dean paced the kitchen in a panic. It was already five p.m. the day before Thanksgiving and he hadn’t done any of the prep he’d planned on for today. They’d all been up late last night drinking more than they’d planned and having a blast when Benny and Charlie dropped by with 80s movies and tequila. Jess fit right in, and was a total sweetheart when she’d made them all breakfast at noon when they finally managed to get up. And now the house was finally in order and the kitchen clean and Dean had shooed Sam and Jess out of the house to have some fun as a couple so he could get started and it was five in the fucking p.m. and felt like he was going to be sick.

“Dean you’ll be fine, and you have tomorrow as well. You just stick to the plan and everything will come out great, I promise. This will not be the Thanksgiving your friends and family disown you.” He chuckled but Dean was too twisted up to find it funny.

“I’m ordering pizza.”

“You will do no such thing. Look, I just have to finish a few things at the bakery and I don’t have to work the hotline until tomorrow, why don’t I come over and help you get some of the prep out of the way?”

“You- really?”

“Yes, text me your address, I can be there in an hour.”

~*~

“You brought your own knives?”

Castiel was already hip deep in his fridge, apparently determined to gather everything at once if he could manage.

“Of course I brought my own knives. But get your hands off.” He popped up suddenly, glaring at the hand now reaching for the largest of the set laid out on the counter. “We haven’t reached that point in our relationship yet.”

“You mean, you have no problem making me shoot off so hard I go cross eyed, but touching one of your knives is serious territory?”

“Yes.” He said, dumping an entire bag of potatoes into the sink. “Start scrubbing these, then dry and peel them.”

The two of them set to work, Dean doing most of the grunt work while Castiel turned vegetables to dice in a matter of seconds.

“You’ve got to teach me how to do that.” He leaned against the counter next to Cas, admiring his knife skills but mostly just enjoying watching the precision of those hands.

“I seem to be finished, I’ll have to show you next time we cook.”

Dean really liked the thought of him and Castiel doing this again, sharing the kitchen and getting in each other’s way just so they could brush up against one another. Dean slipped in between Cas and the counter, arching up into him so he could kiss the man as slow and dirty as he knew how. Castiel responded immediately, groaning and wrapping his arms around Dean’s waist. They rocked into each other and it made Dean ravenous, he couldn’t get enough of how good they felt fit together. He swirled his tongue deep into Castiel’s mouth, ran it along the edge of his teeth and traced the shape of his palate.

“Dean I think we need to put the rest of this on hold. I really need to fuck you right now.” His hand slid down to grab the lengthening hardness of Dean’s clothed cock roughly, pinning him against the counter and staring him down while Dean gave himself over, rocking shamelessly into Castiel’s hand with wanton little snips of sound. “Show me where your bedroom is.”

Dean grabbed onto the front of Castiel’s shirt and drove him backwards out the kitchen door, diving in again and again at his mouth as they stumbled toward the stairs.

His phone rang.

“Shit. Shit that’s probably Sam. I told him to call me to let me know what they wanted to do about dinner, I totally forgot.” He panted a minute then sighed. “Hang on.”

Dean sprinted into the living room, snatching his cell off the coffee table.

“Sam? What’s up, you guys having fun?” He rubbed his forehead as he stared out the window, trying his best not to sound too out of breath.

“Jess and I just went to that new little art gallery they opened in town and we wanted to see if you’d like to join us for dinner.”

“No thanks man, you guys have fun. Don’t want to third wheel your date.”

Dean turned around and immediately choked on his own tongue.

Castiel stood in the middle of his living room, naked, hard and ready for battle. Sam was saying something but Dean just heard the sound of every drop of blood in his body plummet to his dick.

“Sam don’t come home.” It was almost shouting. He couldn’t take his eyes off Castiel ready and _waiting_ for him. “Just take her to that sushi place everyone likes.”

“Dean that’s like half an hour away from here. You sure you don’t want to meet us at a diner?”

Castiel was done waiting, apparently. Three steps across the room and dropping to his knees as he yanked open the fastenings of Dean’s jeans with little patience, glaring up at him the whole time.

“No food! Not hungry! Just show that girl a good time and don’t come home until ten.” Castiel had gotten Dean’s erection free and was gripping it tight, tracing the swollen head over his lips, down the bridge of his nose, caressing his face against it like a cat. “Dawn! Don’t come home until _dawn_.”

He cut the call off and tossed his phone somewhere across the room with a tortured _Fuck_. That was obviously Castiel’s cue because the man opened his throat and sheathed nearly every inch in the hot suction of his mouth.

“Mother of God! You’re- _uuuhhoo_ damn you’re good at that!”

“Mmhmm.” Castiel agreed, shooting electric vibrations dancing down the shaft.

“Gorgeous evil bastard.”

It was all Dean could manage with Castiel shoving down languidly slow and then sucking his life away on the reverse. Goddamn his mouth was unreal, and it was burning more brain cells than he could spare to keep his knees from buckling out from under him and taking them both down.

“Dean,” Castiel growled, staring up at him through his lashes with such feral intensity Dean suddenly understood the appeal of all those broody teenage boys clogging up every show on his television. “You should take my mouth as you wish now, because I want you to be close to coming when I pin you on the ground and prepare you to be fucked.”

Dean made a helpless little sound, then grabbed Cas by the hair, the length perfect to dig his fingers into and pull those plush lips back down around his cock.

“Christ I love what a filthy mouth you have.” He rocked in hard again and again, thrusting and taking and aching for the feel of Cas buried deep in his ass but unwilling to give this up just yet.

Castiel held onto his thighs and took it, opened up and moaned in a sin covered staccato as Dean’s cock plugged up his throat in a steady beat. Wet smears of saliva shone from Cas’ lips and chin and he just kept fucking _staring_ at Dean until it was unbearable, his balls tightening too quick, forcing him to pull away. Castiel licked his lips slicker then grabbed the waist of Dean’s jeans and pulled him roughly down to the ground with him, yanking them past his hips to his thighs but no further.

“On your hands and knees.”

Dean scrambled along the carpet into place while Castiel moved over to the well-worn trenchcoat he’d left draped on the arm of the sofa. Digging in the pockets he pulled out a bottle of lube and a condom, dropping them to the ground by Dean’s arm and kneeling beside him.

“I believe you wanted to be like this,” he purred then shoved Dean’s head to the ground so his ass was high in the air. It was so vulnerable like this, still in his boots and jeans that held his legs together, back arched wantonly as Castiel held his head by the hair and just looked, just stared at him as if he could find the joints where he came apart quickest. Dean whined, rocking back a pleading inch so that Castiel would just get on with it already. The man just chuckled darkly and started running his hands up and down the length of Dean’s body, smooth at first but then digging his thumbs into the muscle, kneading his hips and butt with practiced fingers. He was so damn _strong_ , it would be impossible to guess from the long, tapered hands that Dean had so admired. With a flex of his wrist he was turning Dean to marshmallow, all that work fixing cars, bending over engine blocks, Dean had become inured to the tension he carried around all day, but Castiel, with his freakish dough kneading strength, was breaking it up and melting it away, he wanted to fall into the carpet in a heap but he stayed where he was, face down and moaning.

“You are very beautiful Dean, I want to please you, I want to make you come.” Those miraculous hands left his skin, and the sound of a bottle cap opening made Dean sigh with relief. A cool, slick finger smeared the lube around his hole and then pushed all the way in without any hesitation.

“Do you still want me to do this hard and fast? Or are you in the mood for something slower?”

“Nnnnuh, need it hard Cas, don’t wanna wait any longer.”

“Alright Dean,” and then it was two fingers, long and sure, twisting and drilling into him and the stretch felt like a tease, like too damn little to satisfy.

“More,” Dean chocked out, rocking back hard into Castiel’s hand.

“Already? You want to feel it that bad Dean?” He screwed another finger in there and twisted and stretched until Dean was nearly sobbing. God if fucking burned but he loved it.

“Now, come on!”

Castiel didn’t argue, slipped his fingers free, tore open the condom with his teeth and rolled it on, coating it in more lube. He crawled behind Dean and straighten up, clamping a hand on Dean’s shoulder, using the other to guide his cock, he pulled Dean back onto him in one long push.

“Sonovabitch!” Dean didn’t mean to clench so hard, it had been a while since he’d bottomed and his body resisted a bit. But having Cas inside him was unbearably good and part of him looked forward to feeling this in the morning.

“Hang on, give me a minute…” Cas panted behind him, ridged and holding him still in white knuckled hands.

“Give _you_ a minute?! Christ Cas-“

He dropped his forehead to the floor, willing himself to relax so he wouldn’t go off the moment Castiel started moving. Just as he felt himself back off, the intensity of the sensation calming by degrees, Castiel drew back and snapped back into him hard and the single wail it punched from his lungs was unquestionably the slutiest sound Dean had ever made. He didn’t even know where it came from, just that he was ill prepared for how greedily his body responded to Castiel, who continued to purr and growl above him as he pistoned into Dean with the perfect amount of force. Thank fuck Sam wasn’t anywhere near the house, he could seem to help howling and writhing on Castiel’s cock, singularly focused on how fucking incredible they felt together.

“Dean, I want to feel you come while I’m inside you.” He began to thrust faster, Dean could barely manage to hold himself up as he reached down between his legs, fisting himself at manic speed and moaning like a whore as Castiel spurred him on.

“Fuck yes! Fuck yeah Dean like that!” And it didn’t take much more than hearing that voice above him so cracked and needy, for him to burst apart and come silently screaming.

Castiel lasted only seconds more, pounding his way through their orgasms with a mosaic of screamed expletives and Dean’s name. He crumbled to the ground next to Dean, dragging him onto his side so he wouldn’t have to pull out just yet. They both found it hard to catch their breath.

“That was…..” Castiel laughed in awe. Dean could feel rug burn on his forehead. It made him grin like an idiot.

“Yeah….”


	4. Chapter 4

“Thank you for calling Plumperson’s. This is Castiel, how can I be of assistance today?”

“Is it weird that hearing you say that makes me hard?”

“Sir, this hotline is for customers seeking guidance with their holiday cooking. Sexually explicit conversations start at $9.95 per minute.” Castiel deadpanned.

“Worth it.” Dean smiled, tucking himself further into the corner of his kitchen. The food was coming along and even though he’d been panicking since 6:30am this morning, hearing Castiel’s voice made it all better.

His house was full people, they’d been arriving steadily since noon. Benny showed up first, winking at Dean as he snuck an enormous pot into the garage. Bobby, Ellen and Jo arrived together, the women descending upon Jess with terrifying swiftness, disappearing with her into some unknown room to likely double team the interrogation. Sam looked on helpless, he’d tried to prepare Jess as best he could but she was in God’s hands now. No one was sure when Ash arrived, one minute he was just there, sitting on the sofa next to Bobby watching the game. Charlie and Kevin were the last to arrive, and two things were immediately apparent when they burst into the room. One, Charlie was up to something if her terrible poker face was anything to go by. And two, Kevin was valiantly trying to hide the fact that he was two clicks of the dial away from shitfaced drunk.

“Where’s..uuhhh….w’rzz e’vrybody?” He shrugged his hands and turned in a circle with all the subtly of a shoddy sitcom actor.

“Today’s the _day_ Dean!” Charlie hissed at him with glee. “He’s gonna carpe the shit out of this diem!”

“Have you been feeding him shots?”

“Whoa, whoa man, he fed _himself_ those shots. I just……provided him with moral support.”

“You’re a good friend, cher.” Benny grinned at her and Dean couldn’t help chuckling. Kevin had been pining after the Lady Harvelle going on three years now and their interactions offered no end of entertainment for the group.

“Well you just make sure he doesn’t Dutch courage his way into a dislocated shoulder.” Dean gave her the eye before returning to the kitchen, mind already on where he left his phone.

Everyone was busy catching up in the living room and Dean had wanted nothing more than to steal a few minutes alone to talk to Cas.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Cas.”

“Happy Thanksgiving, Dean. I can’t talk long, but I wanted to say that I had a wonderful time with you last night.”

“I did too, I can’t stop thinking about you. When can I see you again? And not just for that, I want to go on an actual date. I want to date the hell out of you, Cas. You ok with that?”

“I want to date you too Dean. Maybe tomorrow? Oh wait- no, tomorrow I have to take my mother to brunch. The weekend then? I must admit I don’t have a lot of experience in the dating scene so I’m not sure what’s customary beyond dinner and a movie.”

“Don’t you worry about it, I’ll take care of date plans and you just worry about Mrs. Irving crying on line three. Oh! And before I forget, thanks for the pies! They just got delivered this morning, and I know that you said the mystery one was just for me, but your apple is so good I might just eat it all so-“

“Mystery one? What mystery one?”

“The one with the note, ‘A Pie from Cas to Dean’. I’m not sure what flavor it is but-“

“Forgive me, I have to go.”

~*~

**Sassy Cassie: I know you’re reading these texts under the table!!! What did you send Dean?!**

~*~

“You sure you don’t need any help Dean?”

Sam was hovering again.

“Christ Sammy no, I told ya I got this! Besides Sasquatch ain’t allowed around the food without a hairnet. Go.”

“You sure you don’t want to take a break? I could take over for a while and you could catch up with everybody, you’ve been in here all day.”

Dean rolled his eyes. Sam wouldn’t stand still, every time Dean moved to grab another utensil or check another pot Sam darted on his long, ungainly legs to stay right by his brother’s side.

“This turkey looks strange, doesn’t it look strange to you? I think it’s lopsided, it’ll cook all wrong if it’s lopsided. We should get one of the ones from the garage instead.”

Dean looked at him like he was crazy. “Those are still in the plastic! I’ve been dry brining this bitch for two days, and it’s not lopsided. Your fucking head is lopsided if you think I’m gonna stop in the middle of cooking this and start with a new one. Get the hell out of here and go bother Jo. She said she thinks she can kick your ass at darts now.”

~*~

“Listen- listen just-I hafta tell you something.” Kevin shifted closer to Ellen on the couch and lowered his voice.

“I’m all ears hon.”

“I’m on track to finish my PHD in..uhhhh…..” he counted on his fingers with marginal success. “Five! Five years. I’m gonna be the youngest particle physicist _ever_ and you work in a bar.”

Ellen raised a dangerous eyebrow at him, “You better figure out real quick where you’re going with this before I get the wrong idea.”

Kevin blinked glassy eyes at her, “I don’t want you to work in a bar. Ellen,” he took her hand in his. “You are a beautiful woman, I have always thought you were a beautiful, strong, sexy sex- _hic_ \- lady and I want you to wait for me.”

Her expression had gone from unamused to shocked to concerned. “Wait for you? Kid I don’t know how many years you think I have in me-“

“Age doesn’t matter to me! I wanna- I want to provide for you, I’ll get a good job and move outta my mom’s place an-“

“Oh Lord child who let you into the liquor cabinet? You’re drunk.”

“IIIIIiiii’mmm DRUNK!” Kevin suddenly burst out into song, standing up with arms flailing to serenade Ellen. “But right now I’m SSSSOOOOO in LOVE WITH YOOOUU!”

“Can somebody do something about this?” Ellen didn’t know if she should laugh or smack the kid upside his head. Across the room Benny gave Bobby a look and the man pulled out his wallet and grudgingly slapped a twenty in his waiting palm.

“AAAAAnd I don’t wanna think too much about what we SHOULD or SHOULDN’T DO!!”

“All right Mr. Reznor, concert’s over.” Charlie swooped in and dragged him physically out of the room.

“I don’t know how to feel about that.”

“Well mom,” Jo propped her hands on her hips. “A particle physicist could make six figures a year, you’re getting to that age when you shouldn’t go snubbing offers just cause they’re a little young.”

Bobby and Sam both sorted and immediately tried to cover it up as coughing.

“Joanna Beth it would serve you right if I started dating that boy and let him introduce himself ‘round as your step daddy.”

There was more strangled coughing from across the room.

~*~

_“Umm hi Dean, it’s Castiel. Listen, I think Gabriel sent you that other pie, so if you get this message, can you call me? He’s not answering my texts and I- can you just make sure you open the box alone? Call me.”_

~*~

“ _PPPPPSSSSTTTT!! YO!”_

“Um, honey, I think the gentleman hiding behind that door is trying to get your attention.”

Sam looked over to where Jess was pointing. Ash had taken cover in the hall bathroom and was peering around the door, signaling to Sam.

“Yeah, I think I gotta take this.”

Ash ducked back inside as Sam approached.

“What’s up?”

“Get in here man.”

“I’m not- fuck, fine whatever.” He looked around to make sure no one was watching, then squeezed in next to Ash.

“I got that info you wanted.” Ash reeked of weed, his eyes bloodshot and half lidded to an extreme that he looked like a stoned cartoon character. “Checked out everything.”

“Ok,” Sam perked up. “So what did you find?”

“Well the phone calls is all normal, work and fam and shit, but like a few weeks ago he starts callin’ this 800 type number everyday, sometimes more. It’s to a company called Plump Person’s Hotline. I looked around and I’m pretty sure it’s to, like, a feeder chat line.”

“What the hell is that?”

“You know, people that get a rise out of feeding people, makin’ em chubby.” And he proceeded to perform an unsettling pantomime of chewing on imaginary food with his eyes rolled back and his hands caressing up and down his swaying body.

“And his internet history is just recipe tips and porn. Like, man that’s the _only_ thing on there. How to roast sweet potatoes and busty Asian beauties. Your brother is into some weird shit. But you know, I don’t judge.”

Sam slumped back against the sink.

“You think he’s developed a..uh...sexual fetish with food?”

“Oh yeah, totally. Cause that’s the other thing, I looked up that bakery too, the one you found all those boxes from and that place does two things. $40 pies and custom adult baked goods. So either he’s dropping major coin on pie and that’s just weird, or he’s been buying way too many vagina cakes and that’s also, like, weird.”

Sam thought about all those boxes, about the two on the counter, the one in the fridge. He thought about the garage fridge filled with turkeys and Dean’s late night calls in the kitchen.

He hated being right.

~*~

“All right guys! Grubs on!” Dean yelled cheerily as he started bringing dishes out from the kitchen. Everyone started filing in, jostling each other for seats, Kevin slipping in next to Ellen while Sam followed Dean back into the kitchen.

“So uh, looks good. Still kinda shocked you suddenly know how to cook.”

Dean grinned as he shoved a bunch of serving spoons into Sam’s hands. “Just you wait, this bird is going to blow your mind.”

“Oh yeah?” he huffed a nervous laugh. “What’s your secret?”

“Love Sammy!” he said as he took the green beans to the table. Charlie was opening the wine, Bobby was growling at Jo that he wasn’t going to take off his damn hat so quit pestering and Benny was cracking Jess up with the story about a prank war the brothers had started years ago that landed them on the local nightly news.

Sam trotted back into the kitchen on Dean’s heels. “You- uh, you put love in the turkey, Dean?”

His brother eyed him, “You’re still holding the spoons Sam.”

“Oh! Yeah, I’ll uhhh- but like how much love are we talking about here?”

Dean stopped and sighed.

“Look, Sam, I know you’re all keyed up about Jess being here and you want everything to be perfect and that I may have, on occasion, burned cereal. But I got this, okay? I’ll tell you a secret, I practiced long and hard on that turkey, I’m really proud of what I did to it.”

And he slapped Sam on the back and trucked the rest of the dishes to the table while Sam panicked over how he should interpret that.

~*~

“You know it’s really hard for me to keep up the front that you’re too busy for family Thanksgiving if you keep blowing up my phone.”

“Gabriel, what did you send Dean?”

His brother giggled on the other line and he could hear the sounds of silverware and the cut of his mother’s voice over the din.

“Just a little something that says how much you wuuvvv him!”

“Oh God you didn’t, tell me you didn’t send him a cake. Gabe he doesn’t _know_ about that side of the business! I haven’t told him yet because I wanted him to get to know me first before springing that on him!”

“First of all it’s not _your_ business, it’s mine so what’s the big deal? And I didn’t send him a cake.”

“Oh thank God.” Castiel sighed with heavy relief.

“I sent him a Six Pence pie. Seeing how much he loooooves pie….”

“I’m going to kill you.”

~*~

“I’m not much of a grace person, but I do want to say that having you guys here, all together, this is already the best holiday I could have ever asked for. You’re my family and I love you guys. Now let’s eat!”

Dean carved. Dishes were passed, the conversation got louder and louder and looking around Dean couldn’t help smiling. He had his brother by his side, with his beautiful fiancée. He had all the people that meant most to him happy and under his roof about to enjoy the incredible meal he’d made with his own two hands. It was enough to get a guy sappy.

“What are you a vegetarian now? Take some turkey.” He cajoled his brother when he noticed the guy had passed along the plate without taking any. He seemed to be trying to convince Jess to skip it too, but she just shot him an annoyed look and speared a few pieces of white meat for herself.

“What? No, I’m uh- sure fine, looks great.” He smiled nervously at his brother as he took a single piece of meat for himself.

It was another ten minutes before all the dishes had made the rounds and everyone had filled their plates, and the whole time Sam seemed to get more and more agitated. Conversation began to die down as the sounds of forks on plates filled in the spaces and Dean began to notice that Sam and Jess seemed to be having a disagreement as quietly as they could manage.

_“Sam will you relax? It’s fine.”_

“ _It’s not it’s- will you put that down?_ ”

“Hot damn boy, you made all this yourself?” Bobby said between enormous mouthfuls of food.

“Dean, seriously, this is amazing and I fully regret having that sandwich before I came over.”

Dean shot Charlie a look of betrayal but she just shrugged at him and shoveled more stuffing onto her fork.

“uuuUUUUUUHHHH! OH GOD! Dude this is SO good!” Ash was having some kind of cannabis induced epiphany at the far end of the table and everyone laughed. “MMmmmhhh! I’m putting gravy on everything!”

“Son, get your hand off my thigh if you want to keep it.” Ellen didn’t miss a beat or even glance up. Kevin didn’t look the least bit remorseful, Charlie reached across the table to fill his wineglass, and Dean wondered how many times she’d done that since they got here.

Next to him Sam was barely touching his food and watching everyone eat with a strange mix of panic and disgust.

“Dean, you can never tell my mother this,” Jess beamed, “but this is seriously the best turkey I’ve ever had. I usually don’t like it cause it’s too dry, but this is so _moist_ and-“

“DON’T EAT THE TURKEY!”

Everyone pause mid-meal and stared at Sam.

He looked up imploringly at his brother.

“I’m sorry Dean! I’m sorry but we can’t eat this and I think you know why.”

Everyone started looking down at their plates in confusion then back and Dean.

“Um, no Sam, I don’t have any idea why. Mind telling me what the hell is wrong?”

“He thinks you had sex with the turkey.” Ash offered nonchalantly, the only guest still eating.

“ _WHAT?!_ ”

“No! No! I don’t think you had _sex_ with it. I just think that maybe you’ve developed a…..fixation with, um, with food that might be a little………and that maybe this wasn’t prepared in the most sanitary….”

It would be graveyard silent in that room is Ash weren’t still happily munching away.

“Why. The fuck. Would I have sex with a turkey.”

The whole group snapped their attention from Dean to Sam as one.

“I didn’t say you had sex with it! But Dean you have _so many_ of them back there, and the pies and the late night phone calls to the fetish line-“

“Fetish line?! Sam-“

“Plump Person’s Hotline?! Dean you’ve been calling them almost every day for a month! And all the food blogs and porn on your computer and I’m not trying to judge your lifestyle but I’m just not comfortable sitting here eating if it’s giving you some weird sexual thrill!”

Dean could barely get a sentence together, gurgling with rage and the hysterical need to explode with laughter. The longer he took, the more his family believed it was the reaction of a guilty man and several of them politely pushed their plates back.

“Plumpersons!” Dean finally managed to shout.

“Yeah, no, I get it. I’m not-“

“The turkey you moron! Plumpersons turkey!”

“Oh good Lord!” Benny burst out in his husky laugh. “Sam, brother, I think what Dean is too apoplectic to say at the moment is that those phone calls were to the Plumpersons _brand_ company hotline. They run it over the holidays.”

“What?” Sam looked between Benny and Dean, confused.

“Not that any of this should matter or be any of your business, but I needed a little help pulling this job off. I just wanted everything to be perfect for you guys, and Benny can back me up that my first few tries didn’t work out so well.”

“All the turkey’s out back?”

“Practice dummies. And can we get back to the part where you suddenly know who I’ve been calling and what my browser history is?”

By this time Sam was bright red and stammering, realizing that he may have just made a terrible mistake by accusing his brother of defiling Thanksgiving in front of their family.

“Umm….Ash. I was concerned so I asked him to……..”

Everyone collectively looked over at Ash, who grinned as wide as he could around cheeks stuffed with mashed potatoes, giving the table a double thumbs up, eyes bloodshot and nearly closed. Every single person except Sam burst out laughing and by the time it died down they’d all returned to their plates.

“But wait, I know I’ve…. _heard you_ on the phone. And you have, like, more bakery boxes around the house than any normal single person should.”

Dean slumped down and banged his head once on the table. There was no way this could possibly get more embarrassing.

“Look, the short version is, I met someone.”

“Called it.” Jess lilted smugly as she sipped her wine.

“He runs a bakery and he’s keeping me knee deep in pie. I do not have some weird sexual fetish with food.”

“Err, what’s this?” Jo leaned down and reached under the table, sitting up a moment later with something purple in her hand.

A purple, plastic bottle with the words Anal Lubricant stacked along the side.

The whole table erupted ten seconds later.

~*~

_Dean! Dean please call me back! Do not eat that pie, do you understand?! Shit! I’m coming over!_

~*~

“So things got frisky and one of us must have kicked it across the room. But I swear to you! This was just plain old fashioned sex between me n’ Castiel that didn’t involve food porn or rollin’ on the table we’re sitting at or anything else you guys might come in contact with. But this is my house, damnit, so I can get off with the guy I like anywhere I want. And Sam, if I don’t manage to make it to the end of this meal with the last ragged little thread of my dignity intact, you better sleep in a bike helmet with one eye open.”

“So like, what about the living room couch?” Charlie teased. “I need to put down a safety blanket ooor….?”

“No.” Dean reassured her. “………………..but you may want to steer clear of the carpet in front of the fireplace.” He couldn’t help himself, grinning as everyone around him groaned. But the situation finally seemed settled and even if he’d spent the last fourty-five minutes being mortified, it _was_ kind of funny. Everyone was eating again, the girls taking turns harassing him for details about this new mystery boyfriend and Benny and Kevin already starting in on teasing the shit out of him and Sam for the whole mess.

Sam sought to apologize by going on to demolish two plates full of food.

“Hey,” he leaned into his brother’s space. “This really is amazing, you did a fantastic job. Thanks Dean. And sorry for the part where I thought you had sex with the turkey.”

“You did, didn’t you?! I knew it you bastard!” Dean laughed and slapped him on the shoulder, “Look, don’t worry about it man. In the end, you’re here, our family’s here, we both have someone special in our lives now and I’m a fantastic cook. But I am getting you back for this at a date of my choosing. Who wants pie?!” He crowed to the room.

Benny brought out a bottle of cognac, which Bobby nodded at appreciatively. Sam rushed to help clear while Jo and Charlie made coffee and set out dessert plates and forks. Kevin reached for the bottle of wine, but Ellen managed to move it out of range.

Dean set out Benny’s gorgeous chocolate pecan first, to which everyone cooed their praise. Next came the apple one from Cas that Dean set down as close to his plate as he could manage, he still wasn’t sure if he wanted to share it with anyone. He still couldn’t tell what flavor the mystery pie was, the top crust was decorated with a rather impressively sculpted feather and a dark red-purple filling stained the vents. Everyone wanted a slice of everything, so while the coffee and congac were handed out to those that wanted it, Dean cut even slices of each and passed the plates around. By the time he was done, all three pastries were gone and everyone was happily digging into their bounty.

“This apple is incredible.”

“Cas made it.” Dean boasted.

“Benny, I think yours is my favorite. It’s just as good as these bakery ones.”

“Why thank you ma’am, got that recipe from my mama, been on our holiday table every year long’s I can remember.”

“Dean what’s this other kind?”

“I’m not sure, blueberry? Cas didn’t say. I haven’t tried it yet, is it any good?”

“Wow, it’s really unusual, so good though!”

“Yeah it’s _really_ delicious.”

Muffled sounds of agreement floated across the table.

“Uh, boy?”

Dean looked up at Bobby. The man had a strange look on his face, staring at his fingertips where he held something tan and oddly shaped he’d just pulled out of his mouth.

“You mind tellin’ me what this is?”

“Huh, I got one too. Or, no, there’s a couple of them in here.” Charlie poked around the filling of her pie.

“Um, Sam, sweetie?” Jess was holding up another one on the end of her fork, and Dean got a much better look this time. “I think it’s a penis.”

She was right. Every single slice of pie had at least one, small, carefully crafted member complete with an adorable, round mushroom head and two little balls.

“Aww! They’re so cute!” Jo cooed.

“Dean, honey I don’t know how much more of this I can take.” Ellen sighed, batting Kevin’s hand away when he tried to airplane one of the little guys into her mouth. It sent him sprawling sideways like a ragdoll but he just flopped back in place and continued to moon over her.

“You’rr ssssso hot.”

“Can somebody get this kid some coffee?”

Just then there was a crash in the front of the house and in the next moment Castiel came barreling into the dining room, red faced and breathing hard, tan trenchcoat falling off one shoulder, eyes wild and bright.

“DEAN! Oh-“

He pulled up short at the sight of everyone staring at him, Bobby still with the offending bonbon pinched between his fingers. “I’m too late.”

“Heya Cas, welcome to the party.” Dean ran a hand over his face, shoved himself up and left the room, and in the seconds of awkward silence, tableful of silent strangers staring at him, Castiel felt sick with the thought that everything he had with Dean was now ruined.

But Dean returned almost immediately, dragging another chair to the table and wedging it in beside his own. He moved around to Cas, pulling off his coat and chucking it blindly into the other room before taking his hand and sitting him in the chair beside his, fingers twining under the table as he stole a small sideways smile.

Nobody knew just what to say as they all exchanged glances at Castiel, Dean and the pie.

“He’s cute Dean, I’d let him plow me into the rug any day.”

“Joanna Beth!”

“What?! It’s a compliment!”

Castiel went bright red and Dean tried hard not to smile.

“Listen, I’m so very sorry for this. My brother sent this in jest, he creates….adult….confections and thought it would be amusing to send one of his specialties to Dean with my name on it.”

“I guess that explains the truck.” Dean quipped.

“Well Castiel,” Sam piped up. “I’d just like to say it’s really good to meet you and that you have nothing to worry about because this is actually not the most embarrassing thing that’s happened tonight.”

Several of them snickered and Ash started a laughing jag that he couldn’t seem to stop. Dean give Castiel a comically dramatic nod and suddenly the blocky tension in the room vanished, people eyeing him and Dean with humor and something near fondness.

“See here Cas,” Benny clapped a large hand on his shoulder. “I think this pie is delicious, your brother got a real talent. How’d he bake it with all these little peckers in there?”

“It’s a,” He sighs as if this isn’t the first time he’s had to explain. “It’s a Six Pence pie, he came up with it for a particularly bawdy Renaissance faire after party and put it on the menu. It’s very popular. Rye wheat crust, blackberry filling and marzipan…..accessories. The feather on top covers a hole, he bakes the pies and then inserts-“ he grimaces at his own word choice, “whatever…parts…the customer wants. If I’m I the kitchen he makes sound effects when he does it. It’s unsettling.”

Charlie turned to him with a look of deep concern.

“Castiel, as a lesbian, I’m not sure how to approach this. Do I just dive right in and take as much into my mouth as I can? Or just sort of kitten lick around it and hope that I finish it soon…..?”

Castiel burst out laughing, deep and husky, and Dean followed suit, squeezing the warm hand tangled in his own, thrilled beyond measure at the realization that they liked Cas, had accepted him. He wasn’t sure how much he needed that until he looked around at all the happy faces contorted with laughter and found they had made room for the man at his side.

~*~

“I really do feel I should help with something.”

Dean tighten his grip around Castiel’s waist, chin nuzzling deeper into his shoulder. They were sitting on the floor of the living room, Castiel leaning back against Dean’s chest. Everyone was splayed out on the couch or the floor or the few armchairs off to the sides. Someone had put on a horror movie, and a generically pretty young girl covered in grime was gasping and running through the woods. No one was paying much attention.

“Not a chance, Sam’s on dish duty for the rest of the week. He earned it. You don’t have to get back, do you? A bunch of these guys are spending the night, and if you play your cards right, I might be talked into some late night fooling around where we have to keep awkwardly quiet.” Dean gave him a sly look.

“I don’t believe they will be requiring my further services today, no. Or any other day. They did not appreciate my sudden departure. I was fired.” He didn’t sound too broken up about it.

“Well, uh, you know Cas, you were only pulling those extra shifts to get away from slaving for your ungrateful family. Maybe next year you could come here, spend the holiday with us. With me.”

Castiel turned in his seat to regard Dean, the open, hopeful look on his face. “You….would like me to be with you next year?”

They both knew what he meant.

Dean’s answer was to kiss him, gentle but deep, fingers tracing along Castiel’s jaw as he wrapped his legs tighter around his hips. There were several groans from around the room. Someone threw a pillow at them, but Dean only flipped them off while still kissing Cas.


End file.
